


Satisfaction and Potatoes

by FishingforCrows



Series: Our New Life on Our Side [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishingforCrows/pseuds/FishingforCrows
Summary: Aziraphale is determined to cook without any magic For Anathema's upcoming party. At least, any magic of his own. Crowley watches anxiously from the sidelines, jumping in to prevent catastrophe at every turn.





	Satisfaction and Potatoes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry to the 47 of you that read this before I finished editing. I always forget to edit before I post and then I go through and read the darn thing and it's full of spelling errors!

Cooking is somewhere between an art and a science. It is an art because it relies on such subjective things as the cook possessing a good palette and understanding what people like to eat. It is also a science, because its basis is chemical reactions that require specific amounts of ingredients heated or cooled to certain temperatures in order to produce those lovely flavors.

 

Aziraphale possesses a wonderfully refined palette, the product of six thousand years of tasting all the greatest cuisines the world has to offer. Thus, he has a great appreciation and thorough understanding of the art of food. However, he is also easily distracted and does not have a great grasp on how quickly time passes. Meaning, unfortunately, he is particularly rubbish at the science portion of it.

 

Though when his good friend Anathema had invited him to a dinner party, and specified that he should bring a dish, he was determined to give it his best effort. The invite had come a week in advance, that gave him plenty of time to practice, or so he thought.

 

“Angel, you know we could have just offered to bring alcohol. We have plenty of very good vintage wines and scotches to offer,” Crowley huffed as he helped Aziraphale carry many heavy bags of groceries from the car to the demon’s flat. Crowley’s place had a full kitchen that barely saw any use save for the very large sink. Which Crowley used to repot plants in, or to dispose of disobedient greenery down the garbage disposal. He loved that garbage disposal. So loud, very good for scaring the others into line.

 

“I plan on bringing both a bottle of wine as well as a deliciously cheesy side dish,” Aziraphale replied with confidence, paying no mind to the pouting of his love. He was beaming from ear to ear with excitement as they boarded the elevator.

 

“Well why don’t you just magic up a dish then? Why go to all the effort of practicing and cooking and hauling- Mmph,” He grunted as he readjusted the groceries he was carrying in his arms “All this food?”

 

A slight tinge of annoyance showed on Aziraphale’s face at that but he was still smiling, trying to stay upbeat. “You are simply no fun at all. This is a human dinner party! None of the other guests will be using magic! Part of the whole experience is cooking and bringing your own dish. Then when everyone tastes it and says ‘Oh wow, this is lovely, thank you for bringing such a delicious dish’ you get to feel proud of yourself. If I just ‘magicked up’ a dish, what do I have to be proud of?”

 

Crowley just rolled his eyes. There was no point in arguing with his dearest angel, Aziraphale always loved to partake in little tedious human hobbies like this. He didn’t need to eat, he didn’t need to sleep, and he certainly didn’t need to do magic tricks when he was able to do real actual magic. But the angel took such joy in participating in little mundanities like that when he had the chance. He guessed it wasn’t all that different from his own love of driving or his plants. It was those little things, that really made you appreciate living life on Earth. So, he didn’t argue any more. He just helped Aziraphale get everything into the kitchen and let his love have free reign of the space for as long as he wanted.

 

This was, perhaps, not the best idea.  

 

Over the course of the next seven days Aziraphale did not use one single miracle to help him in his many attempts to make garlic potatoes au gratin. Crowley, on the other hand used several… hundred.

 

On that first day, a Saturday, when they had brought home the groceries, Crowley had been expecting that he would leave his angel alone in the kitchen and go sit in his office, do the crossword or perhaps browse the internet. But before he could so much as get comfortable and open up the paper, the smoke detector had already gone off. A subsequent exclamation from Aziraphale had him rushing in to the smoke-filled kitchen to see what was wrong.

 

 _“For the love of-!”_ He exclaimed when he saw a pan on the stove top was actively on fire, his angel frantically waving his arms to try and part the smoke. With a snap of his fingers the flame went out. He then got on a chair, so he could more directly fan the smoke away from the loudly beeping smoke detector. “Trying to make it feel like home in here?! Thinking I was homesick for a little hellfire and chaos?!” He asked Aziraphale, who was currently coughing from all the smoke, in a biting and sarcastic tone.

 

“I - _cough_ \- wasn’t - _cough, cough_ \- aware how quickly butter could - _cough_ \- burn…” Aziraphale replied sheepishly, giving Crowley a smile in the hopes of calming him down. “Thank you for the assistance darling, I’m sure I’ll get it next time!” He said hopefully.

 

He did not get it next time.

 

After four more subsequent smoke-alarm incidents, a call from the downstairs neighbors complaining, and having to miracle away a minor-ish (it was worse than the angel would admit) burn on Aziraphale’s arm, all in under an hour, the demon decided that this was an activity that required supervision.

 

That is how the rest of the week went on. With a very anxious serpent of Eden watching with clenched fists in the corner as he attempted to prevent or fix a near constant series of kitchen catastrophes. Meanwhile his angel cooked blissfully, aware that Crowley was magically intervening, but convinced he was only doing it occasionally and that his own skill really was improving. Even ethereal beings can delude themselves into believing something if they really want it to be true.

 

He thought it was one of the most stressful weeks of his entire existence, and that was including that time the apocalypse had almost happened, and the time when he had been chased by a highly motivated exorcist. He grumbled to himself that he’d rather be dodging holy water and crucifixes right now than devoting this much time and effort to a stupid dinner party, right as he magically dissolved a clog that was about cause his sink to flood.

 

On top of all that Crowley thought that if he ever had to eat another plate of potatoes au gratin, he was going to be violently ill. Every time Aziraphale finished a batch of them he insisted Crowley taste them for approval. _“Open up!”_ he would chirp happily, holding up a fork for Crowley to have a bite off of, hand cupped carefully underneath it. It would have been cute had the demon not been so utterly fed up with the whole thing. By day six the angel must have made at least two dozen casserole dishes worth of the stuff, and even with demonic intervention, only about half of them were edible. Come Friday just the sight of a potato made Crowley nauseous.

 

Finally, it was Saturday again, the day of the dinner party. A few hours before they were supposed to be in Tadfield Aziraphale had started cooking. It was going better than usual, half way through cooking and Crowley had only needed to intervene twice. Perhaps his practice had actually started to kick in. Even so, from the sidelines yellow eyes watched his every move with fierce skepticism waiting for calamity to strike.

_“Oh no!”_

Crowley jolted when Aziraphale cried out, snapping his head around the room as he tried to figure out what exactly had gone wrong this time.

 

“What? What is it this time?” He hissed, very on edge from seven days of a torture most demons would never know. 

 

“I’ve forgotten the wine!” Aziraphale huffed, putting a hand on his forehead as he bemoaned his own forgetfulness. “I was so eager to get over here and start cooking that I forgot the wine I had picked out for tonight!”

 

Crowley sighed in relief but accompanied it with such a heavy eyeroll that he risked turning his eyes completely backwards. “I have plenty of wine for us to bring-,” He started to say.

 

“No, no, no!” Aziraphale interrupted “This wasn’t just any wine, how dare you! This was one of my favorite vintages from the Edwardian era! A perfect fit for the roast Anathema is making tonight! It has to be that one!” He insisted, really rather childishly in Crowley’s opinion.

 

“Ok then why don’t you just zap it over here?” He replied in annoyance, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache.

 

“No, I promised myself I wouldn’t use any magic today,” The angel tutted, shaking his head. “Oh, would you please just… run over to the bookshop and get it for me?” He asked after a moment’s thought.

 

“No! I am not going to take the time out of my day to run some silly little errand-“ Crowley began a tirade but then he made eye contact with his love who was making a face that could only be described as a pout. He deflated, his head falling back as he lett out a groan of annoyance. _“Fine!”_ He snapped, stalking out of the kitchen to leave but before he could, Aziraphale caught him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“You are so kind!”

 

“I absolutely am not!”

 

Crowley left the apartment grumbling and speaking in a mock-Aziraphale voice, which he continued all the way down to his Bentley.

 

 _“I can’t use maaagiiiic it takes away the personal satisfaction!”_ He trilled jeeringly as he started the car.

 

This car hadn’t gone under 80 miles per hour since it was purchased, but today its driver had an actual reason to hurry meaning the vehicle was really only a blur as it ripped down the streets of London to the bookshop. He feared if he left his angel alone for too long there wouldn’t be much of a flat to come back to.

 

As he rushed through the bookshop to the cellar where Aziraphale kept his wine, a thought passed through his mind that perhaps the angel had forgotten the bottle on purpose in order to get rid of him. His blood boiled slightly at the idea. If his love’s silly pride resulted in the fire department having to put out the smoldering remains of his flat then there was going to be serious trouble. Or at least that’s what he told himself. He never could actually stay mad at Aziraphale for long, no matter how badly he wanted to. Every time they would fight the angel seemed to take it very seriously and genuinely believe Crowley didn’t want to talk to him anymore; only for Crowley to come slinking back to him, desperate for his attention.

 

One would think as a demon he might be better at winning arguments. And he was. Usually. But when it came to resisting temptation he was just about as good at that as any other demon. Which is to say not very. And Aziraphale was his very favorite temptation of all.

 

Eventually he found the bottle he was looking for, grabbed it, and made a mad dash back to the car. Once again, he tore through the city streets as nothing more than a flash of black lightening. When he reached his building, he was glad to see there weren’t any firetrucks surrounding it. Even so, he wished the elevator to could climb those 13 floors more quickly so he could see what state his kitchen was in.

 

As he opened the door to his apartment he neither smelled smoke, nor did he hear the piercing beep of the smoke detector. What he did hear, however, was much more alarming to him. He bolted to the kitchen, drawn by the sound of gentle sobs echoing through the flat. His mind spun with what could possibly have caused his angel to cry, reaching the conclusion that he’d burned his corporeal form again. That wasn’t the case, however. When he reached the kitchen the sight he encountered was Aziraphale sitting at the table, head in his hands, crying over a very blackened casserole dish.

 

Crowley looked at this scene in confusion, was the angel really crying over a couple of burnt potatoes? He guessed he hadn’t realized quite how much this must have meant to his love.

 

“Angel?” He asked softly, approaching him slowly and gently put a hand on the other’s shoulder. Aziraphale sighed heavily and looked up at Crowley with tear-filled eyes.

 

“I… I just…” He stammered, seemingly more than a bit embarrassed. “I did every step right, I really did,” He mourned. “I even checked on it halfway through… and then… I forgot to set a timer,” He finished with a choked sob. Crowley’s face softened with that. He sat next to the angel, slinging his arm around his shoulder to comfort him.

 

“Hey… Hey, don’t cry angel…” He said, wiping a few stray tears from the angel’s face. He tried to think of what he could do to possibly cheer up Aziraphale. “You did everything right?” He asked thoughtfully, getting a nod from his love. “Oh yeah, I can see you did,” He said in an encouraging tone, receiving a very skeptical and confused expression. “No really, look,” He reached over and pulled the dish toward him, grabbing a near by fork. He started to scrape away at the top layer of blackened cheese to reveal perfectly creamy potatoes underneath. “Look at that, it’s still good. If we just peel off the top, put some fresh cheese on there and throw it back into the oven for a few minutes, should be right as rain.” He said, looking back at his angel with a little smile.

 

Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed slightly, looking as though he was trying to figure something out. Crowley knew exactly what he was puzzling over. He was trying to decide if the demon really had just peeled back the burnt layer, or if he had miracled the dish underneath to be fine. In truth Crowley had had a miracle at the ready to fix it if what was under the top layer of black was equally as foul, but he hadn’t had to use that. He could have easily told Aziraphale that and ended his suspicion, but he chose to keep the angel guessing. He could call that punishment for all the stress he had put him through this week. So, he just flashed him a toothy, sweet grin. “What do you say, angel?”

 

With one more moment of thought, Aziraphale gave a small nod. One more sniff and a soft dab of a handkerchief under his eyes, he stood up and began to fix the dish per Crowley’s suggestion.

 

Even with this last-minute delay, they managed to get to Anathema’s house on time, thanks entirely to a certain speed demon. The guests gathered at Anathema’s cottage that night included; the angel, the demon, her boyfriend Newt, the Young family, including Adam (Dog had to be left at home despite a great protest from both the boy and the beast), Pepper and her mother, Brian and his parents, and all three Wensleydale’s. Everyone was mingling in the living room, the adults holding wine glasses and the children gathering around Brian who had found the candy dish.

 

“Hello Adam,” Aziraphale greeted the boy fondly. “How are you doing? You’re in school now yes?”

 

“Yeah I am,” Adam replied with a grimace digging his foot into the carpet slightly, hands shoved in his pockets.

 

“Are you doing well?” The angel asked hopefully. Him and Crowley often wondered about Adam’s wellbeing and if he had a normal life after all that had happened. That was around five months ago and this was the first time they’d really gotten to talk to him since. Though they did have a habit of occasionally popping in on him in disguise, just to make sure he was alright.

 

“My grades are very good,” Aziraphale grinned at that, though it turned into a wince as Adam continued “But I get a lot of detentions. I don’t like to be quiet in class for very long, and the teachers are all mad that I know more interesting things than them.”

 

“You get a lot of detentions but do you _go to_ a lot of detentions?” Crowley asked with raised eyebrows. Adam giggled, a devilish little smirk appearing on his face.

 

“Not exactly. They always seem to forget when they’ve given them to me.”

 

Crowley nodded in approval and held out his fist for a fist bump from Adam. Aziraphale huffed and shook his head.

 

A short bit later dinner was being served. The adults gathered around the dining table while the children ate at a smaller pop up table in the living room. An arrangement they didn’t seem to mind at all as it allowed them to escape dreadfully dull adult conversations. As people began to eat, everyone was complimenting the food. Since everyone brought a dish, such compliments were received by every guest but every time someone mentioned the potatoes, Aziraphale straightened in his seat, positively beaming. Almost literally beaming as he seemed to take on a soft, angelic glow, growing brighter with every passing comment. Crowley watched him with a lazy grin, and knowing he probably looked positively love-struck to the outside observer. He couldn’t give a damn either way, just happy and relieved that it had all turned out.

 

At the end of the evening everyone said their goodbyes and made their way home. Crowley and Aziraphale walked a little way away to where they had parked the car. The whole way, Aziraphale was staring at him with a smile and slightly narrowed eyes.

 

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” Crowley quipped as they reached the Bentley. The angel chuckled and shook his head.

 

“If you did… what I think you did,” He said, shaking his finger at the demon. “Then, thank you.” He added, to Crowley’s surprise. He had fully expected to get a telling-off about how Aziraphale had wanted to do it without magic. “But if you didn’t!” He continued. “Thank you even more,” And with that, he pulled Crowley in close for a tender kiss. When they broke, Crowley smiled at him lovingly and placed a few light pecks all around his cheeks, making the angel giggle.

 

“Angel I will neither admit nor deny _anything_ ,” he teased, scrunching up his nose. “Except that you have garlic breath.”

 

They both laughed as they got into the car and drove home, ready for a well deserved rest.


End file.
